It was a field day in territorial politics. All the girls
were at Peggy Morrison's house, watching the processions march by, and
making bouquets to send up to the speakers, of whom Rice Jones was
chief. Tante-gra'mere had her heavy green shutters closed, to keep out
disturbing sights and the noise of fife and drum. Her eyes snapped in
the gloom. It was a warm day, and the large apartment looked like a
linen bazaar, so many garments had tante-gra'mere discarded on account
of the heat, and hung about her. The display made Angelique's face burn
when Colonel Menard was announced; but it was one of tante-gra'mere's
unshakable beliefs that her linen was so superior to other people's its
exposure was a favor to the public. Any attempt to fold it away would
put her into a fury.
The colonel had his hat and riding-whip in his hand. He stood smiling at
both the aged woman and the girl, with his comprehensive grasp of all
individualities. The slave woman placed a chair for him between the bed
and the harp.
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